


Temptation

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie wants him.  Charlie wants him badly.  But he should be forbidden. Is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slu64](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slu64/gifts).



> Contents / Warnings: Language, slutty!Charlie, age disparity, angst, blow job, frottage.

The quill tickled his lips as he brushed the feather back and forth over them. He ignored the urge to shiver and kept on, moving it over the slightly-chapped skin. He'd lost the pot of home-made lip balm his mum had slipped into his trunk at the start of the school year. He supposed that having a son who spent as much time out of the castle as possible made her sensitive to his body's needs, as she had been ever since she'd brought him into the world.  
  
He sincerely hoped that his mother had no idea about the particular need that was coursing through him at that precise moment, however. He shifted slightly on his stool, not helping to alleviate the tension at the front of his pants; sweat slipped further down in between his arse cheeks.  
  
Charlie had decided that spending his Potions lessons in such a tense state wasn't good for him – and not just for the amount of underwear he seemed to get through. Even his hair somehow managed to become more barmy in the steamy, warm depths of the school, when the cauldrons were bubbling away. He had two double Potions lessons a week, it being NEWT year. So that was four hours of his week with his belly in knots and his hair mad.  
  
 _And your cock hard._  
  
Charlie fidgeted again and switched to flicking the feather of his quill at the end of his nose. There was only one reason he was subjecting himself to the torture of double Potions twice weekly, and it had nothing to do with his chosen career. It had everything to do with the man standing at the front of the class, however, who looked so thin and dark-haired that Charlie had to force himself not to pant whenever the wizard passed him. Severus Snape was not beautiful. He wasn't even slightly good-looking, or so Charlie had been told. But there was definitely _something_ , perhaps in the measured, careful tone or the impossibly dark eyes. 'Something' had Charlie hard in his pants and coming ridiculously regularly in his four-poster at night.  
  
Snape had been at Hogwarts since the year before Bill started, a reasonably long time compared to some teachers, but people still whispered about him and where he had come from. Nobody really seemed to know. Charlie had it on good authority, though, that the man had to be around 29 or desperately near thirty.  
  
 _Twelve years between you._ Charlie did the maths. Snape had to have been born in 1960 to his own 1972.  
  
Why he was suddenly thinking about birthdays and years, he didn't know, but a loud voice to his right jerked him awake. Snape was standing next to him, holding what Charlie realised was his last piece of homework. He recognised it from the smeared chocolate in the top left hand corner.  
  
 _Bloody Fred and George._  
  
“Weasley.” Tight lips, stiff posture. Charlie wondered how much fucking the man would need to loosen him up. “For your sake, I hope that is chocolate?”  
  
Charlie grinned at him and shrugged. “So do I.”  
  
He heard the slight hiss of Snape's intake of breath and waited. He could see the 'T' almost stabbed into the parchment in red ink. Another fail, but he didn't care.  
  
“I don't seem to remember you being this incompetent at OWL, Weasley.”  
“Well, you know, after I took that bludger in our last match, my brain does feel a lot lighter now you come to mention it.”  
  
Charlie held his breath as Snape shoved the parchment into his chest. Just one sheet of paper separated the man's hand from feeling his elevated heart beat. Charlie had never been more turned on.  
  
“Detention. You will re-write this to the ability I know you are capable of, Weasley, and not leave until I am satisfied.”  
  
 _I bet I could satisfy you all right._  
  
The parchment fell into his lap as Snape moved away to bark at someone else. Charlie stared dumbly at it for a second before picking it up again. He couldn't suppress a grin when he saw that Snape hadn't missed the fact he'd spelled his own name wrong. On purpose, obviously. Charlie was not an idiot. Far from it, though he knew if either of his parents twigged what he was doing, there'd be hell to pay.  
  
Charlie wasn't stupid enough to let on. He took the detentions, and the extra work, and did it diligently, each time carrying himself just to the next time he could submit some truly terrible homework and spend some time to himself with Snape in the dungeons.  
  
 _You are seriously fucked up._ The bell rang with its usual air of finality and the class burst to life around him, packing up backs and chattering. Charlie absent-mindedly stuffed the failed homework into his bag and scooped everything else in on top of it. As he stood up, his cock gave a sharp throb and he swallowed.  
  
He had no idea where his obsession had come from, just that one day it had been there somewhere around the middle of his fifth year, and had slammed into him like a fully-seated Axminster.  
  
“Weasley, wait a moment.” That silky voice all over his surname caused the throbbing to kick up a notch. Charlie paused and allowed some people to filter past him. Snape came towards him, arms folded over his chest, pale hands tucked out of view. He was dressed all in black, his hair was even blacker, if possible. Charlie swallowed and waited. “Tonight. My office. Eight o' clock.”  
“But-”  
“If you think your protestations about Quidditch Practice will deter me, you're severely mistaken. Your team could do with a night off from their resident clown, even if he is the captain.”  
  
There was a subtle smirk about Snape's lips which made Charlie's mouth dry out. He forced himself to respond. He shrugged.  
  
“They're good enough that they don't need directing. Unlike Slytherin, who would need directions out of a paper bag.”  
  
The smirk vanished and dark eyes began to glare.  
  
“Is that all?” Charlie asked, swinging his bag round to hoist it over his shoulder.  
“Eight o' clock, Mr Weasley.”  
“With bells on,” Charlie grinned, walking backwards towards the door and turning just at the last moment to open it. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw a genuinely perplexed look on Snape's face.  
  
His grin widened as he went out into the cold corridor and headed for the steps to lead him to dinner. Charlie wasn't sure exactly what he was doing or why he was doing it, but playing with Snape got him the interaction he desperately craved. Why he wanted it or what he gained from it, he wasn't sure.  
  
He'd wanked enough times in his bed at night to have become bored with the whole thing. Yet he wasn't. If anything, he was keener. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought about it. He had obsessed over Snape for nearly two years of his life, and by the summer it would be over because he would be leaving school, and restrictive classrooms, and going to work at the dragon reserve in Romania. He _would._ There was no question in his mind that that was his future, no matter how much his mother protested.  
  
His mind drifted off, thinking of the way he'd imagined Severus Snape writhing beneath him, kissing him, licking him, fucking him.  
  
Was that not his goal? Was that not the purpose of all his cheek, his daring? He would never speak to another teacher in the way he spoke to Snape. So why was he bothering if he didn't intend anything to come of it? He wandered into the Entrance Hall and heard the loud chatter already coming from the Great Hall, dinner having immediately started after their last lesson of the day. He followed the noise but didn't pay much attention.  
  
 _Why are you bothering if you don't want anything to happen?_  
  
He did want something to happen, but he didn't know if he could _make_ it happen. He might be happy to fuck anything that moved, but Snape... Snape seemed so stiff and unyielding. Even if Snape was gay, or bisexual, Charlie still had the barrier that he was a student. He slipped into a seat at the Gryffindor table and s­tared at his empty plate.  
  
He had charmed his way into underwear before, but that was with girls and boys who seemed to want him to. Snape probably didn't and thus presented a massive challenge. Charlie looked between two pies and pulled a chicken and mushroom one towards him.  
  
He was decisive. He was sexy and knew it. Charlie knew he was capable of charming every other teacher in the school. His insolence seemed to provoke Snape, and it wouldn't be too much of a jump for that provocation to become sexual. Not in Charlie's mind, anyway.  
  
He cut himself an obscenely big chunk of pie, and smiled to himself.  
  
***  
  
Going to detention was the least appealing thing Charlie could think of, even with the added bonus of seeing his crush when he got there. He snorted to himself. Thinking of Severus Snape as a crush probably made him every bit as stupid as the man himself suspected.  
  
He didn't want to sound dramatic, but Charlie thought it was probably more of an infatuation than a crush. He'd had crushes before. Like the Astronomy substitute teacher they'd had when their old professor had experienced a mental breakdown after watching a student pitch themselves from the top of the Astronomy tower. Charlie thought it was odd that in such a high castle, there had never been a recent death. For whatever reason there hadn't, and that one student had been enough for the professor. The man who'd taken over was beautiful, with golden brown hair and warm eyes. Charlie had been gutted when they'd announced that Professor Sinistra would take up the post. She was nice, but no looker, and all the lessons seemed to go a bit faster when there was something nice to look at.  
  
He imagined the clip round the ear his mother would give him if she'd heard that thought. He smiled to himself and glanced at the clock. It was five to and he knew he should get going if he didn't want to be late, but being late was a sure-fire way of enraging Severus Snape.  
  
 _And he's sexy as fuck when he's angry._  
  
Before he could get too lodged in his thoughts, however, there was a thump next to him on the sofa and Percy settled down with a huff. He pushed his glasses his straight and opened his mouth, probably to complain about the twins.  
  
“I've got a detention to go to,” Charlie pre-empted him, enjoying the fact that this would probably annoy Percy just as much as he had annoyed Snape to get the detention in the first place.  
  
“What've you done now?” Percy's distaste wrinkled his nose. “I wondered why you were in here and not out on the Quidditch Pitch. We'll never win the cup if you keep selfishly missing practices.”  
“My team will win,” Charlie said, ignoring his brother's criticism. “We're good. No, fuck that, we're amazing!”  
“Charlie!” Percy admonished, looking around them to check that nobody had heard the swearing.  
  
Charlie laughed and shook his head. “You're never going to get a girlfriend if you stay such a prude, Perce.”  
“I'm not a prude!”  
“Then come on,” Charlie encouraged, sitting forward in his seat. “Say the word fuck.”  
“No!”  
“Ah come on, just one tiny little fuck.”  
“Charlie-”  
“One teensy, tiny little fuck.”  
“Stop it.” Percy had grown red in the face and his ears were borderline steaming.  
  
Charlie leant back and sighed. “One of my brothers, not able to swear. I've got to say I'm disappointed.”  
“Will you be disappointed when I'm Minister of Magic?” Percy puffed his chest out importantly.  
“News flash for you, Perce. Even Cornelius Fudge swears. I've heard him.”  
“You have not!”  
“I have, when I went to work with dad one time. Someone sent him a curse in the post and it made his cock shrink. He definitely did some swearing then.”  
“That story is one hundred percent rubbish.”  
“I know what I saw. A small-cocked leader of the magical community. Mind you, it probably wasn't that big to begin with, his poor wife-”  
  
Charlie had pushed too far and Percy leapt up, threw him the mother of all filthy looks, and stormed away to the other side of the common room. He looked at his watch. Taunting Percy had made him a nice round ten minutes late, and that was probably enough. He got to his feet and picked up his bag, even though he didn't plan to use anything in it. He nodded to a few people as he made his way out of the common room and into the corridor outside.  
  
The castle was quiet as he made his way down the skeleton of stairs which made up the backbone of the building. He took a short cut to avoid Peeves, who was floating mid-air with his hands full of what looked like rocks, and hummed to himself as he ran down the stairs. He passed a teacher on the way but they didn't question him – the shiny Quidditch Captain badge pinned wonkily to his robes saw to that. Not for the first time, he found himself grateful that the position of Quidditch Captain didn't require a squeaky clean reputation or never having been in trouble. He actually thought Dumbledore picked his heads of Quidditch based entirely on their gumption. Charlie knew he had that by the bucketful. Those with gumption didn't tend to have a clean detention record, though.  
  
The temperature dropped as he shouldered through the door leading down into the dungeons. His breath rose before him in the air and he exhaled a couple of times, trying to make smoke rings. He could do those expertly with his black market cigarettes behind greenhouse five. He nearly walked past Snape's office and jerked to a halt, staring at the door. There were no adornments, just a name plate. Charlie allowed himself a nervous swallow and knocked. The door flew open only seconds later.  
  
“You're late,” Snape spat at him, and motioned him inside.  
  
Charlie saw the small desk which had been moved from one of the classrooms and headed for it. It seemed to have been made for a first year and he awkwardly eased himself into it. His knees were rammed into the wooden underside and his bulk spilled over the edges of the seat.  
  
“My, my, Weasley. Could do with losing a few pounds, couldn't we?”  
“No more than you could do with gaining a few,” he answered quickly, keeping his tone even and cool.  
  
Snape's upper lip curled and Charlie simply stared at him.  
  
“Quill. Parchment. Re-write your essay without the help of your text book, and don't stop until you're finished.” Snape dismissed him with a wave of his hand and settled himself back behind his desk.  
  
It was made of dark, shiny wood and was covered in stacks of parchment, old books and quills. Snape busied himself doing whatever it was that he did when locked away in his office, and Charlie took a moment to look around the room. There were disgusting pickled things in jars, suspended in death by brightly coloured liquids. He made a face at what he recognised to be a preserved mole. It seemed like needless animal death to him – something that he despised. He turned his attention to the features of the room. To his left there was a heavy, studded door, which he presumed led to Snape's private living quarters. Suddenly his every thought was directed to imagining what might lie beyond that door. What sort of bed Snape might have. How he would look draped over it, naked. Charlie ran his tongue over his bottom lip, which seemed even more chapped than it had that afternoon, and wondered.  
  
Silk sheets, deep green hangings. A dark-haired man with a sultry look on his face, dark eyes swallowing his-  
  
“Weasley, what are you doing?”  
“Eh?” He muttered dumbly, trying to clear his mind.  
“What are you staring at?”  
“Nothing,” Charlie said quickly, and an idea popped into his mind.  
  
To appease Snape's immediate attention, he picked up his quill and unscrewed the cap on his ink bottle. He dipped the nib in the black liquid and sat poised to write – but didn't. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Snape. The man was reading something and writing occasionally – completely shredding an essay to pieces, no doubt. Charlie had taken it personally the first time he'd received an acidic comment on an essay, but Bill had shown him some of the barbs he'd collected over the years and ever since Charlie had felt better about it. In fact, he'd seen people _cry_ when getting an essay back from Snape.  
  
There was a gentle sniff and Charlie cocked his head to one side, returning the quill feather to his lips. He watched. He observed the bend of Snape's head, the way that his eyes and presumably his attention were completely absorbed in the task at hand. In his peace, his face was relaxed and Charlie saw, with a little wobble of his tummy, as Snape drew his bottom lip between his teeth and gently chewed it. Quill and essay forgotten, Charlie leaned forward, eager to see more.  
  
Snape's hair fell forward from his face when he sat with his head bowed. Charlie looked for his hands and found one holding the parchment in place and the other rose suddenly so that its heel could support his chin. A thin wrist stood out pale from the end of dark robes; the entire arm looked slight as Charlie studied it. Long fingers spread up over Snape's cheek, gripping slightly, trapping a few strands of hair beneath them. Lowering his gaze, Charlie could just see under the desk that Snape had his feet crossed at the ankle. Feet encased in dark, highly polished boots. A filthy thought floated through Charlie's mind about being made to lick them.  
  
A throb came from somewhere in his groin and he reached down, pressing his palm into the front of his robes. He nearly moaned but caught himself just in time, and quickly looked up to check that Snape hadn't noticed anything. The man worked on, either purposefully ignoring Charlie or genuinely totally absorbed in his task.  
  
Charlie continued to watch, slumping forward to rest his own chin on his hand. He twiddled the quill in his free fingers, back and forth, over and over, not caring that he was flicking ink everywhere from the nib.  
  
He lost track of the time as Snape worked on, the essay too long to be anything produced by a student. Charlie knew that their Potions Master sometimes produced articles for the wizarding journals – perhaps he was editing his own work, and that was why it was receiving such devoted attention.  
  
 _I wonder if he looks at his lovers like that?_  
  
Even as he thought it, it seemed wrong, somehow. Severus Snape did not seem to be the sort of man to take a lover. Bill said that when he'd first started school, there'd been rumours that he'd been through some sort of tragic heartache which had seen him disappear for a few weeks. When he'd come back, as the whispers had it, he'd been skeletally thin and even paler than usual. Vampire jokes did the rounds and nobody seemed to care. Charlie cared. He'd always wanted to know the truth.  
  
What tragic secrets were there in Severus Snape's wardrobe? There had to be some, Charlie had decided. He just looked like the sort of man who had secrets, dark ones, ones which were painful and real and maybe had even pushed him to his limit.  
  
“Weasley!”  
  
He fought hard to keep his face straight. “Sir?”  
“What are you doing?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Quite. I note that your parchment is blank?”  
“Is it?”  
  
There was an angered exhale and Snape got up, walking towards him. Charlie had seen students quail under the look which was directed his way, but it only made him sit up straighter, to be braver.  
  
Snape picked up the parchment and waved it in front of his nose. “Blank.”  
“Merlin. I've got no idea how that happened, Sir.”  
“I do.”  
“Oh?”  
  
Charlie leant back in his chair, trailing one arm over the back. He spread his legs beneath the desk, but that didn't work very well considering it was made for an eleven-year-old.  
  
“You're content to waste both my time and your time by not doing the work for your actual lessons, and then have the gall to come here and waste it further?”  
“Who says I'm wasting my time? I'm quite enjoying myself here, looking at you.”  
  
A flicker of confusion furrowed Snape's brow, but it was gone in seconds to be replaced with a look of loathing.  
  
“Get out of my sight,” the wizard spat, screwing up the parchment and throwing it at Charlie; it hit him in the face and landed in his lap.  
“Right away, Sir.” Charlie grabbed his bag and leapt up, clattering against the desk in his haste.  
  
Snape shook his head and turned away. “I've never met a boy as thick as you, Weasley.”  
“Funny, that's what my boyfriend said last night.” The retort rolled off his tongue before he could even acknowledge that his mouth was open. The words hung between them, thickening the tension like cornflour in a stew.  
  
When his professor turned to look at him again, Charlie was thrilled to see that there was a pink tinge to his cheeks and something in his eyes which sparkled. To help his appeal along, Charlie reached up and loosened the neck of his robes. He slid his hands into the pockets. Snape stared at him.  
  
“Would you like to see?” Charlie asked, voice low and keeping his eyes on Snape's face.  
“G-get out.” Charlie wanted to rage when there turned out to be no lust in the response, only anger. “Out. Now. Back here tomorrow night. And the night after. And every damned night until you learn some RESPECT.”  
  
A firm hand planted on Charlie's shoulder and shoved him towards the door. He allowed himself to be escorted from the classroom but turned to look as he was shoved over the threshold. The door was slammed in his face. Charlie all of a sudden couldn't breathe, his cheek choking him. His legs wobbled. He leant forward and rested his forehead on the wood, breathing hard and fast. Had he pushed too hard? Would he find himself in front of the Headmaster in the morning? Would the shiny badge be gone from his chest?  
  
There was an odd sound from the other side of the door and Charlie made to leap away, in case Snape came out and found him mooning in the corridor. But the following thud was unmistakable – Charlie pressed his hand to the place he knew that Snape had slumped against the door, just centimetres away from him. He heard what he thought was swearing and strained his ears. Then the door juddered as Snape pulled away from it, and Charlie heard no more.  
  
He shifted his backpack on his shoulder and started down the corridor. He felt sick and giddy, completely carried away with his actions and Snape's reactions. He started the stairs up to the Entrance Hall with what might have been hope blossoming in his heart. That, or shock. He wasn't sure which to bet on.  
  
***  
  
As he ate breakfast the next morning, Charlie couldn't help but shoot sly looks up at the staff table. Snape was there, eating slowly and scrutinising The Daily Prophet. None of the rest of the teachers bothered to talk to him, which didn't surprise Charlie, as he had never seen the wizard engage in unnecessary conversation.  
  
 _Silent but strong._  
  
Charlie let out an incredulous laugh and shook his head. He seemed to have turned into one of the girls in his year rather than the man-boy he actually was. A bisexual man-boy. Who hadn't looked at a girl in weeks. Charlie speared a sausage on his fork and bit the end off. The innuendo did not pass him by. He chewed and savoured the taste – even though his mum could undoubtedly source and cook better – and speared another. He was known for his immense appetite. Nobody would have batted an eyelid at him eating twelve sausages plus bacon, eggs and toast in one sitting.  
  
“Pig.” The playful insult came from his best friend (outside of the family) and sometimes boyfriend, who sat down across the table from him. “Leave some for the rest of us.”  
  
Charlie dumped the mouthful of sausage left on his fork on his friend's plate and stuck two fingers up at him.  
  
“How was your detention with Snape last night?” The question was laced with a verbal smirk.  
  
Being his best friend, Pip was the only person Charlie had ever alluded to about his crush. The reaction had been exactly what he'd expected – disbelief, following by intense piss-taking. Charlie had met Pip on their first day at Hogwarts. They had shared a dormitory for seven years. Pip had been his first kiss, his first fumble and his first fuck. Even though there was no intense romantic love there, that had worked well for their friendship. They went to each other for mutual comfort, but Charlie was confident that they would never actually fall in love with one another.  
  
That didn't mean he didn't like to suggest it, however.  
  
“Why, worried you'll lose your future husband?” He blew Pip a kiss.  
“Terrified.” Pip started to butter his toast. “Well? Did he throw you over his desk and spank your bottom until you creamed over his desk?”  
“Are you trying to kill me?” Charlie asked weakly, starting to sweat at the very thought.  
  
Pip just laughed and stuffed his mouth full of bread.  
  
“It was... well. I just sat there. And stared at him. Then he got mad and threw me out. I've got to go back tonight.”  
“What're you gonna do then?”  
“The same.” Charlie grinned and toasted him with a glass of orange juice.  
  
“Still not on the pumpkin juice, eh?” Pip asked, reaching for a nearby pitcher of the same.  
“It's even worse when you've seen it in reverse.” Charlie shuddered. A contraband bottle of Firewhiskey had very recently caused him to vomit his dinner up in bed one night. Even the sight of the juice made his stomach ache.  
“You know what would really rile old Snapey up?” Pip said, carefully dissecting a piece of bacon with his knife and fork.  
“What?”  
“Not going to his detention full stop.”  
  
Charlie thought about it, and swilled another mouthful of juice about his mouth. That would certainly annoy Snape, and flout his authority, which was one of Charlie's favourite things to do.  
  
“Sounds good,” he conceded.  
“Also, that's a good thing, because it's Anna's seventeenth birthday today and she wants a common room lockdown with much stolen booze.”  
“Good thing it's Friday, don't fancy having to get up tomorrow morning and be presentable. Not after last time.”  
“Oh, you were so shit-faced last time.”  
“And I intend to be so again.”  
“Oh, goody. You're so fun when you're drunk. Maybe tonight I'll get a bit of attention.”  
“Awh, are you lonely?”  
“So very lonely, missing you.” Pip mimed playing a tiny violin and Charlie laughed. “Fuck, no. I just fancy a snog and, shockingly, you're the best around for that. So I've heard.”  
“Heard or dreamt?” Charlie wrapped his lips around the end of a sausage and mimed sucking it.  
“Dear Godric,” Pip cried, shaking his head. “You're disgusting.”  
“I'm amazing,” Charlie corrected.  
  
The bell rang through the hall and around them, their peers got to their feet, yawning and moaning, reaching for their bags. Charlie stuffed the last sausage in his mouth and wiped his lips with his hand.  
  
“It's raining,” Pip muttered, peering out of one of the windows. “I don't want to go. Let's bunk off and get a headstart on the snogging?”  
“No way! It's our day with the Crups.”  
“But it's _raining_.”  
“Put a coat on.”  
“Sometimes, Charlie, I hate that you're a mad, animal-loving bastard.”  
“And I love you.” He mimed sucking cock in Pip's direction and turned away.  
  
***  
“There really is nothing like sitting in a pile of puppies to make you feel better.”  
  
Charlie grabbed a puppy and lifted it up to eye level, making funny faces at it and eventually blowing a raspberry on its puppy-swollen belly. He inhaled and groaned. “I want one. Now.”  
“Yeh get enough of these, don't yeh?” Hagrid asked, smiling at him indulgently.  
  
Whilst the rest of their class pretended to be interested in sketching in the rain, Charlie was content to find himself sprawled on the floor of Hagrid's hut, where the gamekeeper was housing the school's litter of Crup puppies for Professor Kettleburn. They were a project for the NEWT students and when they were grown, the intention was to keep them on as ratters for the school. It was the only thing that made Charlie pause when thinking about Romania – if he stayed behind, he could get his own place and adopt one of the Crups. He cuddled the puppy close into his chest and nuzzled it.  
  
“Still want one,” he admitted, and released the pup on the floor.  
  
He stretched his legs out in front of him. One of the puppies started to chew on his boot.  
  
“How's things up there then?” Hagrid asked, easing himself into a huge armchair. “Gettin' on alright, are yeh?”  
“Yeah I'm fine... I'm a bit... I want it to be summer _now_. I want to go now.”  
“Wishing yeh life away.”  
“I know I am but... I can't help it. I know the place is waiting for me and they don't even want my NEWTs. I'm here for mum and mum alone.”  
  
Hagrid shrugged. “I'm not much of an example. Never finished school. An' I'm happy.”  
“I know, and that doesn't help.”  
  
Charlie groaned and scrubbed his fingers over his face.  
  
“Just get yerself through this year and then yeh'll be done with the whole thing,” Hagrid advised. “It's only a few months, Charlie.”  
“I know.” He pulled his knees to his chest and crossed his feet at the ankle.  
“An' stop pullin' Professor Snape's chain,” Hagrid said knowingly, with a wink.  
“Oh aye? What's been said?”  
  
Ordinarily, Charlie wouldn't have asked. But Hagrid wasn't his teacher, and Hagrid adored him. He was more like a friend than a teacher.  
  
“I happened to walk in the staffroom in the middle of a meeting. Dumbledore asked if anyone had any problems. Snape mentioned yeh.”  
“I'm a problem?” Charlie laughed. “Not the first time I've heard that.”  
“I mean it. He was really going for yeh.”  
  
Charlie looked at the fire and blinked in the glare.  
  
“What's going on? Not like you to be causing trouble.” Charlie glanced at him. “Well. Not like that, anyway.”  
“I'm not doing anything.” It was a bad lie. They both knew it. “I just...”  
“Don't get yerself in trouble just fer the sake of getting the time to go faster, Charlie. Yeh don't know how lucky yeh are to be here.”  
“I do,” Charlie muttered, hugging his legs. “I do. I can't...”  
“What?” Hagrid pressed, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his huge legs.  
“I can't tell you.”  
  
It felt wrong, lying to Hagrid. Or even withholding the truth. Charlie told Hagrid most things. He was an odd choice of confidante, and Charlie knew that, but they had a good friendship. Charlie had two people he could talk to in life after Pip – Bill, and Hagrid.  
  
Bill was swanning around in Egypt and hadn't yet replied to the letter Charlie had sent a fortnight ago. He knew his brother was busy but he couldn't help but feel hurt. Bill was his other best friend.  
  
“Is it summit serious?” Hagrid asked, his voice thick with concern.  
“Probably. Might be nothing.” Charlie unfolded and jumped to his feet. He brushed the seat of his robes off and hopped around the Crup puppies to get to the door. He picked his bag up. “Bell's about to go.”  
  
Hagrid stared at him, as if trying to read his mind.  
  
“See you soon, yeah?” Charlie forced a grin and pushed out into the rain, which had started to come down in rods from the steel coloured sky.  
  
***  
  
The noise in the common room was so loud that Charlie couldn't even hear himself think. It was a welcome reprieve from the guilt which had been troubling him ever since his discussion with Hagrid. He knocked back a mouthful of cider and relished the taste. Friday night had never seemed so sweet.  
  
It was only nine and the night was young. He'd still been partying come sunrise before. He intended to see Saturday in the same way. None of them were really that drunk yet, considering that the younger kids were still around. Nobody had cracked open the hardcore spirits yet – the Firewhiskey, the Vodka from the Muggleborns. There was a big difference in letting a twelve-year-old have half a cup of cider to introducing them to shots. As it was, most of the younger years were already looking bleary eyed and tired.  
  
There was time for hardcore later.  
  
***  
  
Pip's mouth tasted of aniseed. He'd been at the Ouzo. They had a boy in the sixth year who was half-Greek and shared his stolen gains from his parents' drinks cabinet. Charlie couldn't abide the stuff, but it did taste better from the mouth of a boy who was pressing his erection into Charlie's hip.  
  
Inhibitions had completely been shed. He currently stood on one of the homework tables, gyrating against Pip, snogging hard, groping harder. All around them the common room was in similar states of debauchery, but there was only one male on male couple, and that was him and Pip. If his sexuality had been a sort-of secret before, it most certainly wasn't any more. Nobody was paying them the blindest bit of attention, however, and Charlie had never felt more liberated – more confident. Pip's fingers were threaded in amongst Charlie's curls, tugging hard when their rutting reached a peak. Pip matched him in height but not in weight, so he was pawing at him and pulling him close and enjoying being the burlier one.  
  
“Can you believe in a few months this'll all be over?” Pip slurred in his ear. “That we'll have to be fucking grown ups?”  
“At least then we'll be able to party without posting a lookout.”  
  
Pip laughed in his ear and they met in another kiss.  
  
“Why don't we go up to the dormitory and leave this lot to their chucking up and...” Pip's hand disappeared between them. Charlie groaned and tipped his head back, closing his eyes to the swimming ceiling above.  
  
Too late, he realised that the room had gone deathly quiet. When he eventually opened his eyes, Pip wore the most stupidly farcical expression that he nearly laughed, but a sharp voice interrupted.  
  
“Weasley.”  
  
Pip released him as he straightened up. They both remained up on the table, lips reddened and swollen from all of their snogging.  
  
 _Oh fuck. He saw me getting touched up. Saw my face. Fuck fuck fuck._  
  
“I believe you're meant to be in detention?” Snape's voice was quiet but commanding. “Would you follow me?”  
  
Charlie had no choice but to clumsily get down from the table, blinking madly as he tried to clear his drunken brain.  
  
“The rest of you, to bed. _Now._ Make no mistake, McGonagall will know of this.”  
  
Everyone scrambled around them. When Charlie didn't move, an iron grip settled around his upper arm and dragged him towards the portrait hole and out of it. Snape closed it behind them with a slam. The Fat Lady exclaimed angrily and swore at him rather demurely. Snape ignored her and continued pulling Charlie's arm, all the way into an empty classroom. He saw stars as he was thrown up against a wall.  
  
Only then did he see the fury in Snape's eyes.  
  
“I don't know where you've got the idea that you can treat me with the disrespect that you reserve only for the people who are here to help you, but you've got another thing coming if you think you can skip my detention and have me find you like _that._ ”  
“I'm-”  
“I WILL NOT BE UNDERMINED BY YOU!” Snape shouted straight into his face.  
  
Charlie held his breath. There were flecks of spit all over his face. He was so close that he could smell the man's breath. There was a tight fist clenched in the front of his t-shirt.  
  
“What have you got to say for yourself?” Snape demanded, giving him a shake.  
  
Charlie was so drunk, that it sounded like a good idea. He was off his face and Snape had just ruined his chance for a shag. And he really, really liked Snape angry.  
  
“Go and fuck yourself, cunt.”  
  
He watched the words sink into Snape's psyche. He watched the fury turn to stone cold madness in the man's dark eyes. His face contorted and he suddenly seemed positively unhinged. More spit flew from his mouth as he hissed. Charlie gasped as two pale hands wrapped around his throat and he was banged hard against the wall again.  
  
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Weasley?” The words were a growl. “How would she like it, hmm? A letter from your head of house, finding out that her precious boy's mouth is filthier than a Knockturn Alley whore's? That her baby is a faggot?”  
  
Charlie was not drunk enough to escape the fear of the involvement of his mother in any situation. He would never get to Romania. Romania was everything.  
  
“I'm s-sorry,” he choked out. Snape's hands were growing uncomfortably tight. “I'll s-stop.”  
“Oh yes, now you're sorry.” Snape's dark eyes narrowed. “Now that your future's in jeopardy. Well, I won't stop there. Your mother is the first step. One letter from me and that Reserve won't touch you with a bargepole. Understand me, Weasley? I will ruin you. Back off.”  
  
With a final rattle of his bones, Snape released him, drew himself up to his full height, and stalked off. The classroom door slammed behind him. Charlie sank down to the bottom of the wall and groaned.  
  
As well as being terrified, he couldn't believe that he was _still_ turned on.  
  
***  
Charlie released his nervously held breath as no owl landed in front of him for the fourteenth day running. Once his hangover had cleared, the true horror of what Snape had threatened had been realised. His mother. The Reserve and in turn, his future. He had never dreamt that his pushing would affect it, but Snape didn't seem like the sort of man who would mince his words.  
  
With shaking fingers, he drank a gulp of orange juice. For fourteen days he had been on his best behaviour and all of his friends kept shooting him worried looks. Their sunny Charlie had gone, to be replaced with a quiet, brooding boy whom they had rarely seen over the course of their seven years at Hogwarts. Even during Quidditch practice, he had properly focussed and even shouted at a few team members for mucking about, which was completely unlike him. Charlie was normally a big fan of mucking around. His team had looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. They had a big game coming up against Slytherin and if they didn't win, they would have to work damned hard to lift the trophy at the end of the year – and Charlie was determined to go out with a bang. He had blamed his grumpiness on that and most of the team had fallen for it.  
  
He set down his goblet and wiped his sweaty palms on his robe. The bell would ring any second for their first lesson and he wanted the distraction.  
  
For fourteen days, he hadn't so much as locked eyes with Severus Snape. He would happily go on to the end of the school year in the same way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents / Warnings: Language, slutty!Charlie, age disparity, angst, blow job, frottage; *specific to this chapter* - mentions of past domestic and child abuse.

Elation was a natural drug that Charlie was addicted to. Being Quidditch Captain of the entire school and head of the Gryffindor team, he was treated to a hefty dose on a regular basis. At that moment there was nothing but the roar of the crowd, the screams of his team-mates and his pulse in his ears. He took both hands off his broom and flung his arms wide, roaring his pleasure to the sky. He steered with his thighs, ignoring the sweat causing his robes to cling to his back, turning back to the team who had secured a victory. It wasn't even the semi-finals, but after the tension of the past three weeks, Charlie relished the win as if it was the actual final. Each player had played superbly. He himself had made spectacular catch. The snitch flapped weakly in his fist and Charlie lifted it to his lips and kissed it, before punching the air with the beaten golden sphere.  
  
His team-mates thumped into him, nearly dislodging him from his broom, and they sank to the grass yelling, swearing and cheering. Eventually, one by one, they peeled themselves from the pile, until Charlie alone was flat on his back on the pitch, looking up at the forget-me-not blue sky above. There wasn't a cloud in sight, compared to the day before when the wind had howled so hard that half of the Gryffindor Tower roof had ended up in the Black Lake.  
  
“Fuck.” Charlie laughed loudly in disbelief and reached up to rub at his eyes with his free hand. He wasn't surprised to feel tears of joy there. Every success touched him. Every failure ruined him. Sport was his ecstasy.  
  
He took the extended hand of one of his beaters and staggered upright, dragging his old, faithful broom with him. He could only imagine what sort of saves he might be able to make if he wasn't on his Dad's old broom. He tried not to think about it too often.  
  
“Charlie, are you seeing this?” The beater muttered into his ear, and pointed to the sidelines, where a slim man was applauding calmly, wearing an interested expression. “He's a scout, Charlie. He works for the Tornadoes. Can you imagine? You could get in the fucking England squad.”  
“He's probably not here for me,” Charlie replied automatically.  
  
He slipped free of his team and walked the short distance to hand back the Snitch to their referee, then gave the crowd one last wave by punching the air with his broom, and beckoned his team to follow him to the changing rooms. The sound of chanting spectators followed them and he couldn't help the grin which sprung onto his face. He ripped open the neck of his robes as soon as he was through the door and dragged his fingers back through his wind-tangled hair. The digits immediately got stuck. He was going to need a long shower and the wide-toothed comb he'd lost a long time ago to get it sorted. The team bubbled around him, throwing themselves down onto the wooden benches. Six expectant faces turned to him and were clearly waiting for a speech. Charlie carefully placed his broom down next to his clothes and cracked his knuckles.  
  
“Thank you,” he said, hoping that he sounded earnest. “You played as well as any professional team today. You did so fucking well.”  
“Not bad yourself,” someone catcalled.  
“Even if you have had your head up your arse for a few weeks,” the beater added.  
“I know I've been... a bit distracted.” Charlie winced. “But I'm back now. And we won. We kicked Slytherin jacksie and we all know how good that feels. Now, go and shower, because the smell is making my eyes water.”  
  
The room filled with whoops and claps and Charlie snorted to himself. The team fell to their usual banter and only as they turned to get their shower things did Charlie notice the same man who had been applauding him on the pitch loitering by the changing room door.  
  
“Can I help you?” Charlie asked loudly, giving a pointed look to where one of the girls was already halfway out of her robes. He hurried to block her from view.  
“I wondered if we might have a chat?” The man held out his hand. “I'm from-”  
“I know where you're from,” Charlie said quietly, eyeing the Tornadoes badge sewn to the breast of the man's jacket. “And I'm not-”  
“Please. Just ten minutes?”  
  
  
  
Ten minutes turned into half an hour. By the time Charlie escaped, his brain ached from coming up with excuses as to why a professional Quidditch career wasn't for him. As he finally started to strip out of his sweat-drenched robes, he had to admit that it was tempting. Glory. Money. So much money his little brothers would never need to wear another pair of hand-me-down jeans again. Ron would love it; he already idolised Charlie and this would be the icing on the cake. Yet, as he ran over the numbers the man had just given him in his head, Charlie knew that his heart wasn't in it. Perhaps it would be, a few months in, when he was used to the money and the luxurious apartment in the Residential Quarter in Diagon Alley, but not now. Dragons still excited him more than the prospect of international fame, which they were all telling him he would have without much effort.  
  
Charlie just didn't _want_ it.  
  
He toed off his boots and peeled off his lucky socks. He hadn't washed them for extra luck, so they were positively rancid and could have walked to the laundry room by themselves. He gave them an extra hard squeeze in thanks and lobbed them into the waiting washing bin by the entrance. The rest of his robes followed until he was standing starkers in the changing room, shivering as the adrenaline and excitement began to leave him. He collected his towel and shower bag, the only non-essential personal belongings he'd managed not to lose that year - so far. He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed out into the corridor. The team changing rooms were separate to avoid rivalry and sabotage, but the showers were shared by both teams and were placed in the middle of the two team areas. The air was thick with steam and smelled of shampoo. There was only water running in one stall. The girls complained about the state of the showers regularly, but Charlie had never cared as long as there was hot water.  
  
As late as he was, he knew he might be pushing it for that requirement. He hung his towel on a hook outside a shower cubicle and made to enter, when the curtain of another was ripped back. Out of it stepped his counterpart on the Slytherin team, the captain, also a seventh year – one that Charlie had spent the whole of their sixth year Christmas prefect's party feeling up in a broom cupboard. His status as the head of the Gryffindor team had seen him attend that party, for all of the fifteen minutes it had taken him to cajole Philomenus White into a broom cupboard. He remembered the night fondly. From the grin on the other boy's face, the feeling was mutual.  
  
“Good game,” Phil said, nodding reluctantly. “Charlie, you're so fucking good, I'm going to have to break your legs, I think.”  
“You can try.” Charlie shot him a winning grin and reached in to turn the water on. “You were great though. Your seeker nearly had me at one point.”  
“He's useless. Pity we can't dump mid-season.”  
“Don't be mean.”  
  
Charlie jumped as Phil's hands touched to his hips from behind. The warmth of the other boy spread up over the skin of his back as he huddled close, and lips kissed beneath his ear. Shivering, Charlie tipped his head back to rest on his chest. Phil was more Bill's height than his and was of the same build. But he had shoulder-length dark, waving hair and green eyes. He was a catch and Charlie knew it. He turned and kissed him squarely on the mouth, taking no time in introducing tongue to the proceedings. He herded Phil back towards the wooden-slatted bench which ran the length of the shower room and pushed him down to sit on it. Charlie dropped to his knees. He wasn't above giving head in the locker rooms – in fact, it was one of his favourite things to do. The last few weeks had been so stomach churning that he wanted to do it, to have some fun with someone who wanted him back. He nuzzled against the freshly washed skin of Phil's enviably flat stomach and inhaled from him.  
  
“You're such a slut,” Phil whispered, but his breaths were shallow and there was a flush in his cheeks.  
“And I enjoy it,” Charlie quipped, ducking his head and capturing the soggy tip of Phil's cock in his mouth. He enjoyed pressing his tongue into the soft foreskin. The taste spurred him on.  
  
Long fingers spread into his hair and held him in place; the action caused his own body's first reaction as a spike of lust shot through his balls. He reached down and took himself in hand, pumping once, twice, a third time as he took more of his partner into his mouth. He wasn't sure what made him look up and to the right. There had been no noise, no reason to glance to the side, but he had – and what he saw there nearly made him choke on his mouthful.  
  
Severus Snape stood in the door way to the showers, frozen in pace. His jaw was set and his eyes were wide. Phil had taken to moving Charlie's head back and forth, sliding his lips over a rapidly thickening shaft. The shower room erupted with moans as Phil enjoyed himself. Charlie's hand had come to a stop on his own erection and he couldn't tear his gaze from Snape, who stood watching.  
  
A gargled moan came out of Charlie's mouth without warning and Snape started, fingers rising to clutch at the door frame convulsively. As he moved, the fabric of his robes tightened across his body and, to Charlie's surprise, he saw a column of hardness at groin level. Charlie's head was tipped back and Phil's cock slid right to the back of his mouth. As the tip connected with the wet flesh of Charlie's throat, the boy cried out, coming hard and fast into Charlie's waiting gullet.  
  
Swallowing hard, Charlie kept eye contact. Snape stayed put. Phil was moaning gibberish at the ceiling. Behind them, the forgotten shower splashed down on the tiles.  
  
Phil suddenly let go of his hair and the spell over the room shattered. Charlie watched as Snape vanished from the door way. He fell back on his heels, immediately becoming chilled. Phil was easing his foreskin up with a moan.  
  
“You've not lost your touch.”  
  
Charlie hummed in agreement as curls were brushed from his brow. He got to his feet and felt dizzy. He stumbled back to the shower, which was only lukewarm, and stuffed his head under the flow. He hadn't expected to be caught giving head by the man he fancied when he'd woken up that morning. His stomach tightened, wondering what Snape would do in response.  
  
***  
  
It was a long wait until Double Potions on Monday afternoon. Charlie had been on edge ever since Saturday, when he'd finally crawled out of the shower, put his clothes on, and headed back to the castle. He kept swinging madly between scenarios and possible solutions. He had never meant for Snape to see him going down on Phil. It hadn't even crossed his mind. But knowing how angry the wizard was with him, Charlie was scared that it would just serve as more ammunition.  
  
He'd avoided the Great Hall at peak times to avoid seeing him thus far, but he couldn't skip Potions without making the whole situation ten times worse. So it was with a nervous tremor in his hands that he waited outside the dungeon with his fellow seventh years just after lunch, wondering if he would be able to keep from vomiting with fear. The door swung open to their dungeon and he swallowed, hard. A whisper ran through the line and not until he reached the threshold did he see why. Snape was not holding the door open to glare at them as he usually did. Instead, Dumbledore stood there, wearing a pleasant smile and half-moon glasses low on his nose. Charlie worked hard to wipe the shock from his face as he ducked into the dungeon. On the board some instructions were written. Once they had all taken their places, Dumbledore moved to stand behind the teacher's desk.  
  
“Professor Snape is unfortunately unwell. Therefore, he has advised me what to set you, and you will work on this potion for the rest of the week, under my supervision. You may begin when you are ready.”  
  
Around him, the class chattered, all sounding thrilled at the possibility of a Snape-free week. Some of the class who were Snape's frequent targets for bullying and barbs looked like they might cry with happiness. Charlie, however, was sitting on his stool feeling like someone had kicked him in the bollocks. He had been terrified at the thought of seeing Snape, but on some level must have been desiring it. That need was not being met and as a result he felt adrift.  
  
“Mr Weasley, are you all right?”  
  
Charlie had not noticed that Dumbledore had wandered close to him.  
  
“Sir?”  
“You look pale is all. It's most unusual to see a Weasley without their freckles... especially you.”  
“I don't feel very well,” he said numbly. He reached out and picked up the first thing he could find, which was a scalpel. “But I'll be fine.”  
“Perhaps you and Professor Snape share the same affliction?” Dumbledore suggested lightly, but Charlie's heart leapt into his mouth.  
“W-what?”  
“A stomach complaint, I believe?” Dumbledore went on, smiling. “Do you feel well enough to continue with the lesson?”  
  
Charlie was many things, but he wasn't generally one for bunking off his lessons. He did, however, feel truly rough, and Snape's absence was only going to unnerve him further.  
  
“Not really,” he said, hoping he sounded wounded and meek.  
“Is a trip to the Hospital Wing necessary, or just an afternoon nap?”  
“The second one, I think.” Charlie did his best to look tired.  
“Off you trot then. I expect to see you up bright eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning, do you understand? Else I really will have no option but to submit you to the mercy of Madame Pomfrey.” He grimaced and Charlie couldn't help but laugh.  
  
He gathered his things and headed for the door, feeling the entire class staring at his back as he went. As soon as he was in the corridor he broke out into a sweat. He looked over his shoulder at Snape's office door, which was closed. Charlie hurried upstairs, clutching his stomach.  
  
***  
  
The dormitory was peaceful, augmented by the sound of four teenagers' deep breaths. Charlie lay awake on his back, staring at the canopy above his bed. There were posters, pictures and a Gryffindor scarf pinned to it. He moved his eyes from one face to another, hoping for a distraction from his thoughts, but none came.  
  
He was shattered. All week sleep had eluded him, only turning up around four in the morning when the alarm went at seven to go down to breakfast. If the others had noticed the deepening circles beneath his eyes, they hadn't mentioned them, though he'd caught Pip staring at him shrewdly several times. With a frustrated groan, he threw himself into a sitting position and scrubbed his hands over his face. Though the dormitory was cold, he swung his legs out of his bed and wandered to the window, looking down over the grounds, which were dark and eerie looking.  
  
He glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearing two in the morning. Shifting on cold feet, he ambled back to his bed and sat down on the side.  
  
Snape had not been seen, it turned out, since that afternoon in the showers after the Quidditch game. He hadn't been at meals and had not taught any lessons that week. Charlie knew that it was all connected to him. He just _knew._ What surprised him was that he felt really terrible about it. Had he disgusted Snape with the even more blatant display of his sexuality? Had he awoken memories that the man wanted to forget, somehow? Charlie looked down at his toes and wiggled them. A sharp tapping on the window made him jump.  
  
A light-coloured owl banged to be let in. Charlie jumped up and opened the latticed window. When the bird landed, sand fell off its claws onto the windowsill. _Bill._ He took the letter and grabbed a water jug from the side. The bird drank from it for a moment before giving him a grateful hoot and flinging itself back out into the night. Charlie watched it go and grew colder before he remembered to shut the window again. He ripped open his brother's letter. He could just about make out the words in the darkness.  
  
“ _Charlie,  
  
You know what the answer is. If you want this person so badly, go and get them. Don't faff about. You know that you could charm the most miserable old witch out of her knickers. Don't wait. Life's too short.  
  
Egypt's great, but I'm sick of having sand in my arse crack.  
  
Love,  
Bill._”  
  
He clenched the letter in his fist and stared out of the window again. Bill probably wouldn't be saying what he was if he knew that the object of Charlie's unnamed desire was a teacher. But said it he had, and it sparked something within Charlie's chest. He looked at the clock again. Even his Quidditch Captain badge wouldn't get him out of trouble if he was caught so late at night. Yet, as his blood began to pump, he knew he wouldn't be able to wait until morning, or a more convenient time. He had to go straight away. He groped with his toes for his battered slippers and found them. Then he hooked an old Weasley jumper off the trunk at the end of his bed and put it on. He picked up his wand and immediately headed for the door.  
  
“Where are you going?” Pip hissed from his bed.  
“Nowhere,” Charlie replied immediately. “Or, nowhere that concerns you.”  
“Don't get caught.” Pip shook his head and laid back down.  
  
Charlie grinned and crept out into the spiral stairway which led to the common room.  
  
He moved quickly, using as many hidden short cuts as he could remember to try and minimise the chance of running into teachers or ghosts. Some ghosts he could sweet talk into forgetting what they had seen, but if he met the Baron or even The Grey Lady, he might be toast. He made it to the Entrance Hall before he even heard anything, however, and it turned out to be Peeves removing choice screws from some suits of armour guarding the Great Hall.  
  
“Shit,” Charlie muttered under his breath. He needed to dart past those suits to get to the dungeons.  
  
Hiding behind a statue of Persophene, he peered around the curve of her breasts and gripped his wand. He levitated a candle out of its holder and, using all the force he could muster, flung it down the stairs leading towards the charms corridor. Peeves' head snapped towards the sound and he shot off following it. Charlie ran, slipping on the floor in his too-big slippers. He fumbled with the round handle of the door to the dungeons and dashed through it, cursing as a loud bang echoed out.  
  
The dungeons corridor was freezing and most of the candles were out. He stayed close to the wall, so that he could throw himself against it should Peeves decide to investigate the sound of the bang the door had caused. Nothing followed him, however, and Charlie gained confidence as he drew closer to Snape's office. He peered down to the end, where he assumed the Slytherin common room was located. There was no sign of anybody.  
  
He saw his reflection in the gold name plate on Snape's door. _What are you doing?_  
  
He knocked. Nothing happened. His heart sunk.  
  
 _What did you think would happen? It's the fucking middle of the night, you twat._  
  
He knocked again and waited, straining his ears for any sound beyond the thick wooden door. He nearly shat himself when he heard approaching footsteps. He took a step back and waited. The door opened.  
  
Snape was dishevelled. Charlie was used to seeing his hair greasy, but it was lank beyond recognition. It fell stringy and grimy around his face, which was deathly pale. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He wore what looked like a nightshirt beneath a woollen dressing gown.  
  
They stared at one another. Snape took in his pyjamas and home-made jumper. Charlie couldn't help looking at the hairy legs poking out of the nightshirt-and-gown combination.  
  
“Can I come in?” His voice surprised him, burgeoning out of nowhere.  
  
He expected the answer to be no, but Snape simply walked away, leaving the door open. He retreated back into the door which Charlie had so thought about during his detentions and left that open, too. Charlie hastened to follow and shut the office door. Excitement prickled through him as he passed into the man's private living area. The furniture was dark. The fabrics were a mix of Slytherin green and black. Despite its low positioning in the castle, it was warm and bright. There were many candles floating in mid-air and a fire roared in a rather impressive fireplace. Snape had sat himself down on a settee close to the heat; in his fingers dangled a nearly-empty glass of something alcoholic. Charlie didn't know what to do. He shifted from foot to foot.  
  
“What do you want?” Snape asked, staring at him.  
“I wanted to...” Charlie faltered. What _did_ he want to do? Did he want to make a move on his teacher, a man who looked desperately low? Did he want to apologise for everything and promise that it would stop, and that he would move on? He didn't think he could do the latter, not in a month of Sundays.  
  
“Sit down.” Snape turned to face the fire and leant back. He drank from his glass.  
  
Charlie moved to obey, walking round the back to sit at the opposite end. He desperately wanted to ask for a glass of whatever Snape was drinking. He wasn't sure if he dared.  
  
“Well?” Snape asked again, not looking at him.  
“I... you haven't been around all week. Not since... the showers. I wanted to...”  
“Wanted to what?”  
“I don't know,” Charlie blurted, and found himself blushing.  
“Twice I have found you whoring yourself to your peers,” Snape said quietly, bitterness evident in his tone. “And you have humiliated me twice in the process.”  
“I didn't mean to!”  
“To what?”  
“To humiliate you! I never even thought that you'd ever see me on my knees sucking someone's cock! Except for-”  
  
Snape turned to him, his eyes glittering. “Except for what?”  
  
Charlie's face seemed to erupt in flame, he was blushing so hard. “Except for in my head.”  
“Your head,” Snape echoed.  
“Yeah.”  
  
He might have been imaging it, but the space between them seemed to be closing, fast. He stayed put but Snape was leaning into him, a strange look in his eyes. Charlie's heart sped and he froze. He had kissed many a person in his time, both boys and girls, but he'd never reacted like this before. Was it the fact that Snape was a teacher, and therefore forbidden? Or was it purely his attraction to the man, long developed in his mind and desperately sought after?  
  
When Snape kissed him, he gasped, jumping back slightly. Snape jerked away, his eyes hardening.  
  
“Little boys who fantasise are always disappointed,” he spat, lurching to his feet and knocking back the last of his drink. He threw the glass at the opposite wall, where it smashed. “So, come on Weasley. Let me have your worst – insult me with words it would make your mother weep to hear.”  
“I never meant to call you a cunt,” Charlie said, struggling to his feet. “It just came out. I wanted to annoy you, but I didn't mean to hurt you.”  
“Funny, I've heard that before from a group of boys who were about as mature as you, many years ago.”  
  
The anger seemed to seep out of him and his shoulders slumped. He looked miserable. Charlie was moving before he had instructed his limbs to move. He stood in front of him and looked into the face of his professor, a man who should have been so very off limits that Charlie wouldn't even be standing in his personal, private living quarters.  
  
Yet he was, and his heart was drumming a tattoo on the inside of his ribs, and his stomach was in his throat. He reached with outstretched fingers, not sure quite what he was aiming for. He settled for gently grabbing the collar of Snape's dressing gown and tugging him closer. It was perhaps the first time in his life that Charlie had ever felt out of his depth. He watched as dark eyes welled up and a tear broke free, trickling down a pale cheek. His innards squirmed; human suffering, animal suffering – it was all unbearable to him. He did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed the older wizard in a bear hug, pulling him tight to his body. He closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of all the bizarre feelings which continued to rise within him.  
  
He had thought a lot about this moment – the moment where they would share willing physical contact. They had even kissed. It made him realise just how much of a child he'd been. Those fantasies were nothing like the reality that he was holding in his arms. This Snape looked fragile, hurt and lost. Charlie reached up and pressed a gentle hand to the back of the dark, greasy hair and kept it there. Severus Snape was slightly taller than him but seemed to fit perfectly into the front of his body. His face was planted firmly into Charlie's collarbone.  
  
Charlie heard a clock ticking somewhere. He didn't know what else to do but listen to the sound, permeated by the crackling of the fire. He counted the seconds. Snape didn't move, didn't say a word. If he was crying he was doing it silently. Charlie finally located the clock; it was an old carriage type on the mantelpiece. It currently read that it was quarter to three in the morning. As the minute hand ticked forward a notch, Snape began to shake in his arms, and Charlie was about whisper something when the man abruptly pulled back, looking at him as if he was truly seeing him for the first time.  
  
“Charlie...”  
  
The name sounded almost melodical from his mouth. Charlie realised it was the first time he'd ever heard it, rather than a barked 'Weasley' or insults. It made his knees knock.  
  
“Severus.” He whispered the name, as if saying it louder might break the softness between them.  
“Why did you come down here, Charlie? Why aren't you asleep?”  
“Why aren't you?”  
  
Charlie reached up and wiped away a tear drop which was threatening to fall from the end of Severus' nose.  
  
“I can't sleep.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because of you, driving me mad. I can't get the image of you sucking off that boy out of my head.”  
“I... You weren't meant to see that. Or before, with Pip. I was just... being me.”  
“Are you a whore?” Severus blinked.  
“Sort of.”  
“Your mother would be so proud.”  
  
Charlie snorted.  
  
“I removed myself from the school,” Severus said, a dark look passing over his face. “I took myself away from the temptation... and instead it has found me again.”  
“And am I... am I a temptation?” Charlie hardly dared breathe.  
  
Severus' answer was to grab him and kiss him, using one hand to tug on his hair and pull his head back, giving him room to deepen the kiss. Charlie grew hot again and could only stand dumbly whilst he was kissed, more thoroughly and more expertly than he had ever been kissed in his life.  
  
 _Is this swooning?_ He'd seen that faraway, dazed look in a few pairs of eyes in his time. He'd never felt what they were going through.  
  
“Wow,” he breathed, as Severus released him. “Fuck.”  
“Don't tempt me,” Severus muttered, and stalked away.  
  
Charlie watched as the wizard poured himself another drink in a fresh glass. Deciding that it was then or never, he decided to grow a pair.  
  
“Can I have one?”  
  
Severus raised his eyebrows.  
  
“I'm of age,” Charlie pointed out. “And if you want to talk about leading me astray, I think giving me a drink would be the least of your problems up in front of the Board of Governors.”  
  
Severus stared at him for several long, hard seconds, but eventually summoned another glass and poured Charlie a measure which matched his own. He wordlessly thrust it at him and Charlie gratefully accepted. He sipped it.  
  
“You've got good taste.”  
“And you've got no place down here in my dungeon, drinking my brandy, looking like _that_.”  
“Like what?” Charlie asked, cursing his default coquettish setting.  
“Fuckable.”  
“Well, if that's what you think when I'm wearing a pair of pyjamas with a hole in the crotch and a jumper that smells of cats...”  
  
He shrugged and sipped at the brandy, which warmed all the way down into his belly. Severus was ahead of him and was pouring himself another.  
  
“It doesn't smell of cats,” Severus said after a while. He swirled around the amber liquid in his glass. “It smells of you.”  
“And how do I smell?” Charlie asked.  
“Like temptation,” Severus answered softly. “I don't know what to do.”  
“With me?”  
“With anything any more.”  
  
Just how drunk his professor was came to light when the wizard tried to walk towards an archway to another room. He stumbled and had to grab the door frame to remain upright. Brandy slopped over the lip of his glass.  
  
“What's the point?” Severus asked the room at large. “There's no fucking point in life, there's no joy. Just this fucking job and endless bottles of brandy. I'll become my father. With no wife and son to knock around when the going gets too tough.”  
  
Charlie tried to hide the shock he felt on hearing those words. Severus continued on into the bedroom, seemingly unaware of the secrets he was spilling. Charlie followed, coming to a halt at the entrance. It felt wrong to enter the man's bedroom when he was so unlike himself – Charlie knew that there was no way that he would be there if Severus Snape was sober.  
  
“There's a point to life,” he said quietly, leaning against the door frame. He watched as Severus started to pace the carpet.  
“Well I can't fucking find one any more. There's not been since she died.”  
“Since who died?” Charlie frowned.  
“Nobody.”  
“It's obviously somebody.”  
“I fucking loved her,” Severus spat at him. “I loved her and I could have given her everything, and she didn't want me.”  
“Well, no disrespect to her, but she made a mistake.”  
  
Severus stopped dead in the middle of the room and stared at him. “You don't know what I've done.”  
  
His face contorted and the glass landed near his bare feet, soaking his toes and the carpet with brandy. Truly lost in his inebriation, a sound rent the room like a wounded animal and Charlie dashed forwards to catch him as he started to crumble. He pushed Severus towards the bed and had no choice but to go with him when tight fists clenched in the front of his jumper. Charlie again felt the overwhelming reality of being completely out of his depth. Pained, heartfelt sobs met his ears and, to his horror, he felt tears rising in his own eyes.  
  
Had he ever been confronted with such pain before? Charlie didn't think so. He blinked hard and fast to chase away his emotions. Losing it wouldn't help matters. Instead, he shifted so that he was on his side, and drew the wreck of his Potions Master to his body. Comforting, he could do. Protecting, he could do. Five younger siblings had given him plenty of practice at that.  
  
***  
  
Charlie had no idea what time it was, or even really which way was up. All he knew was that he must have dozed off somewhere along the line, and the warm bundle which had been in his arms for a long time was not there any more. He didn't want to open his eyes. Surely, when he opened them there would be an angry adult, who would blame him for everything that had happened the night before and throw him out. Charlie didn't know what he wanted, or what he expected, but he didn't want that. Finally, when he could bear the suspense no longer, he opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. His back and neck were sore from having slept so awkwardly. Even the gentle movement confirmed what he already knew – that he was utterly shattered. He could only have been asleep for half an hour. Sat huddled at the end of the bed, looking vulnerable, nervous and bereft, was Severus Snape.  
  
“Hey.” Charlie wished his just-woken-up voice sounded less groggy. He must have sounded like a child.  
  
Severus said nothing, but kept his eyes trained on Charlie, as if waiting for an adverse reaction. Charlie struggled to sitting and yawned the yawn of the exhausted. He didn't have the energy to cover his mouth. When he surfaced again, his eyes were bleary and his nose was running. He sniffed and rubbed one eye with the back of his hand.  
  
 _Really hot, Charlie. Godric._  
  
“Are you all right?” he asked, trying again, but his voice was no clearer. He wasn't surprised – it took him a good hour to get going even on a full night's sleep – let alone half an hour in a crappy position.  
“I don't know what to say,” Severus said quietly, looking down at the blankets, which were rumpled and squashed where they had lain on them for hours. “I don't know...”  
  
He trailed off and Charlie felt for him. He'd been glad when the kissing had stopped. He was a whore, but he wasn't going to take advantage of someone as upset as his professor had been. It wasn't right. He had the feeling, though, that his offered comfort would prove the same sort of betrayal. From the look on Severus' face, he was right.  
  
“Look, don't feel bad.” Charlie sniffed again and desperately tried to wake up. “I shouldn't have come here last night. I don't even know why I did... except for to say sorry, and I did that. Everything that happened afterwards was my fault. I should have left.”  
“I kissed you,” Severus said; he sounded mortified. “And slept with you. I need to resign and get out of here.”  
  
Charlie suddenly woke up at that. “No! You don't need to resign. It's fine. I liked it. But I won't tell anyone about it. We can just... forget it.”  
“Can you so easily forget temptation?” Severus asked him, shaking his head. “You must teach me. I am woefully inept.”  
“So... all of what you said last night... that wasn't just because you were drunk?”  
“Of course it was because I was drunk.” Severus stared at him like he had grown another head. “If I'd not been drunk, I would never have been moronic enough to say any of it to you.”  
“I liked it,” Charlie repeated, and looked down at his thighs.  
  
“The problem is that I liked it too, which is completely inappropriate and unforgivable.”  
“It isn't.”  
“It should be.”  
  
Charlie looked up and they stared at one another. Slowly, as he would act towards a shy animal, he reached out and placed his hand over Severus', which rested on the blankets of the bed. It was cool to the touch and he squeezed it, hoping to offer solace.  
  
Severus' eyes closed, though, as if Charlie had caused him pain. He quickly let go, feeling that the man had enough pain to contend with. He was pleasantly surprised when Severus snatched it back, lacing their fingers together.  
  
“Come here,” Charlie whispered, and pulled on Severus' arm.  
  
He'd expected more resistance, but maybe he truly had underestimated the man's attraction to him. Severus collided with him and Charlie landed on his back. They kissed and he took Severus' weight on his torso. Their legs rubbed together and Charlie found himself hooking one up behind a slim backside. He locked his arms around Severus' back, trapping him in place. Instead of pulling away, there was a soft moan and Charlie found himself being pressed harder into the mattress.  
  
When hips rolled into his, he let out a moan of his own and pressed back. He had never felt harder but all he wanted was for the contact to continue. Normally, all he wanted was to come – to feel the rush of orgasm through his body. This was different.  
  
“Oh gods,” he breathed, tipping his head back and exposing his throat.  
  
Severus immediately latched onto it, kissing his way over the flesh slowly and wetly, using his teeth to graze every now and then. Charlie shivered and curled his toes. He grappled with the fabric of Severus' nightshirt, pulling it up and up until he could finally touch warm flesh. He waited for a reprimand, but none came. He grabbed a pert buttock in one hand and squeezed. A hiss raced over the damp skin of his neck and Charlie whimpered.  
  
He'd never whimpered before in his life.  
  
“I want you,” he whispered, close to Severus' ear.  
  
Leaving one hand to paw where it already sat, he trailed his free fingers up over the wizard's back, feeling scars there. He concentrated on stroking up and down, until Severus quivered on top of him and arched his spine, somewhat like a cat. Charlie grinned and repeated the move, until he was sure that Severus was almost purring.  
  
He had no chance to say anything cocky, however, as his mouth was claimed again. Severus suddenly wrenched both of his hands back and pinned them into the mattress. Charlie cried out with pleasure as the reality of being captured seized him. He became very aware of the long, hard shaft pressing into his hip and the friction rubbing against his own.  
  
Severus' thrusting against him took a turn towards ferocious and Charlie met him, push for push. The air was full of pants and groans and Charlie drank in each one, allowing it to force him closer and closer to the edge.  
  
“Oh god,” Severus breathed into his face and Charlie watched with fascination, lust and amazement as his professor's eyes fluttered shut and his hips jerked out of rhythm.  
  
There was no mistaking it. Severus Snape was coming on top of him, and his face was a picture of pleasure. Charlie felt boneless at that moment, watching him, his own cock hard and thick in his pyjamas.  
  
“Charlie.”  
  
His name was a sharp cry at the end of a wave. It was enough to finish him. Charlie stuffed his face into Severus' neck and let out a pained moan as he came, toes curling and fingers gripping onto those which held them so hard that it hurt. He howled out something incoherent into Severus' skin.  
  
Then there was a dead weight on top of him and Charlie couldn't breathe. His lungs were useless, they received no air as he lay there, his head swimming. He was too hot, all of a sudden, and his clothes were driving him mad. The thick wool of his mother's knitted offering would kill him, he was sure. Severus rolled off him and landed on his back. Charlie looked over and saw the man's chest bouncing as he too fought to catch his breath. With the weight gone, Charlie managed to calm himself – enough to fumble for Severus' hand. He found it across a flat stomach. He pulled it to his chest and held onto it for dear life, frightened that at any minute it could be taken away.  
  
Severus didn't move, however, except to roll into Charlie's side and nuzzle against his chest. Charlie quickly embraced him, still afraid that he would leave, that it would be over.  
  
It was only as sleep tugged at him again that he realised that Severus was holding him hard enough to cause an ache in his ribs.  
  
***  
  
“Charlie.” The whisper was urgent in his ear and tickled it. He winced and jerked his head away. “Charlie, you must wake up. This is urgent.”  
  
Moaning, he rolled over and stuffed his face in his pillow. A pillow which smelt all wrong. It smelt of herbs and tea and -  
  
“Severus!” he gasped, throwing himself onto his back and looking up at the man standing above him.  
  
Severus was fully dressed in his usual black robes. His hair was still wet from the shower that Charlie could now smell in the dungeon air. His eyes were slowly fading back to a normal colour from their bloodshot red. He was extremely pale, however, and looked worried.  
  
“What?” Charlie asked, voice groggy all over again.  
“You need to leave,” Severus said quietly. “They're searching the castle for you.”  
“What? Why?”  
“Because to them you've been missing for eighteen hours. And if they find you here...”  
  
Comprehension dawned on Charlie just as there was a loud knocking on Severus' office door. They both jumped and stared at it, rather than doing something about it.  
  
“Where can I hide?” Charlie asked finally, rolling out of bed and looking around for his slippers and wand.  
  
There was another loud knock on the office door and Charlie nearly threw up.  
  
“In the bathroom.” Severus gestured to it. “There's a trap door under the rug. It drops down into another dungeon below this one – the drop is long but manageable. I sometimes hide down there when Albus wants to have tea.” He gave Charlie an exasperated look. “The exit is in the far right corner – it's pitch black, use your wand.”  
  
Charlie found it on the floor next to his slippers and snatched it up.  
  
“And you'd better be a damned good liar, think of something – anything. Sleepwalking. You got lost. _Anything._ ”  
“I'll do it, I promise,” Charlie said.  
  
Even though he was scared, he grabbed Severus by the shoulders and kissed him, silencing him completely. He rested their foreheads together. “Can I come back?” he whispered. “Please say yes.”  
  
Severus looked at him, obviously torn and battling with himself.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
As soon as Charlie heard that, he lunged for the bathroom. The trapdoor was where Severus had said it would be and he yanked it up. He lit his wand and put it between his teeth, and using all his strength, lowered himself by his hands into the hole. He dropped without looking where he was going. He hit the ground and fell, landing painfully on the wrist of his wand hand. He moved it, heard a crack and searing pain shot up his arm.  
  
“Bollocks.” With added agony, he used his wand to levitate the trap door above him closed as quietly as he could.  
  
All of a sudden, the dungeon became eerie, and the sound of his breathing was all he knew. He could hear nothing from above. Now all he had to do was find his way out and spin a convincing lie. Charlie grinned in the darkness, despite his either sprained or broken wrist. Fuelled by what had just happened, he felt he could do anything.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Oh look, Weasley made it to breakfast without getting lost in the dungeons!” The jeer came from the Slytherin table as he passed it on his way to his own.  
  
Two months on, nobody had let him forget the night where he had supposedly been sleepwalking and got lost in the school dungeons, fallen over and broken his wrist to boot. Especially not so close to the Quidditch final. The taunts had actually picked back up again.  
  
Charlie rolled his wrist in a circle and winced at the crunch. It had been mended in seconds and yet he still felt it. He sat down at the Gryffindor table and began piling bacon on his plate. Owls flooded the hall and brought with them the usual screeches and cries of students who got a bird shit in their breakfast or hair. A small, severe looking owl landed in front of his plate and immediately swiped for some bacon rind. Charlie let the bird have it as he took the tiny note from its tiny leg.  
  
' _Tonight. 23:00. Call it my attempt at sabotaging Gryffindor's chances of winning the cup._ '  
  
Charlie grinned and glanced at the staff table. Severus was watching him with narrowed eyes. The bird took off. Charlie inclined his head once and winked.  
  
Severus looked away, turning his attention back to his paper. A small smirk curled his thin lips. Charlie watched a moment longer.  
  
Temptation, as it turned out, was not easy to ignore.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
